


The Dreamer Must Awaken

by teacuphuman



Category: Dune (1984), Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Secret Saito, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 11:31:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8889148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teacuphuman/pseuds/teacuphuman
Summary: Eames tries to make Arthur's fantasies come true on their five year anniversary.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kate_the_reader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/gifts).



> For the amazing and wonderful [katethereader](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/pseuds/kate_the_reader) as her Secret Saito gift. I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for all the wisdom and support you've shown me!
> 
> *You don't really have to know anything about the movie Dune to understand this (I hope).

Arthur can feel the heat before he even opens his eyes. A dry wind blows against his exposed face and he can smell the shifting sand under his feet. Eames is nowhere in sight when Arthur finally looks around, squinting into the bright sun. There’s sand everywhere and he’s already parched, and if this is Eames’ idea of an anniversary present, Arthur’s going to have words. 

 

“Seriously?” Arthur mutters when he looks down and finds himself wearing a stillsuit, the buckles and tubing a perfect replica of the ones in the movie. At least all the sand makes sense now. Movement on the ridge above him draws his attention and he starts toward the figure posing gallantly, backlit by the scorching sun.

 

As Arthur draws closer, the figure turns to face him and Arthur stops dead in his tracks, sliding backwards in the deep sand.

 

“Are you fucking serious?” He demands.

 

“Good Fremen!” Eames, in the guise of Paul Atreides, greets him.

 

“What the hell are you doing, Eames? I thought this was supposed to be my present.”

 

Eames frowns. “It is.”

 

“Usually when there’s this much sand there’s at least a beach nearby.” Arthur crosses his arms, the stiilsuit squeaking.

 

“It’s your fantasy, darling,” Eames says, beaming.

 

Arthur looks around. “Okay,” he says slowly. “While I applaud your attention to detail, drinking my own sweat isn’t my idea of a good time.”

 

“I’m Paul Atreides,” Eames tells him, like Arthur’s completely missed the fact that Eames is forging a young Kyle MacLachlan.

 

“I can see that.” Arthur clears the ridge and looks around. There’s a harvester a few hundred feet away. 

 

“Paul. Atreides.” Eames stares at him. “Your first crush!”

 

“What?” Arthur chokes out.

 

Eames’ face falls. “I found the book in your old room when we visited your parents. Your sister told me you were obsessed with it and that she caught you wanking to the movie in the rumpus room.”

 

Arthur presses his lips together to keep from laughing. “I cannot believe she told you that. Look, I was fifteen. My tastes have changed somewhat since then.”

 

“Oh, is this better?” Eames shifts and Arthur’s suddenly face to face with a sweaty Sting in nothing but a winged g-string.

 

“Definitely better, but still very wrong.”

 

“I was always a Gurney Halleck man, myself,” Eames grins and transforms into a trim Patrick Stewart, circa 1984.

 

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Arthur shakes his head. “Can you just be you, please?”

 

Eames sighs dramatically and his forge falls way, leaving him in cargo shorts, a bright pink Hawaiian shirt, and flip flops. “I put a lot of effort into this, you know.”

 

“I know you did, but why?”

 

“I can’t do something nice for you?” Eames pouts.

 

“Nice for you is cleaning the house in the nude or whisking me away for the weekend, Eames. This is weird.” Arthur frowns when Eames looks away, chewing on his bottom lip.

 

“A bloke can’t do something extravagant for the love of his life on their anniversary? Why are you picking this apart?”

 

“Because you once told me you’d never be anyone else in a dream with me because I’m the only person who never expects you to change.” Arthur takes Eames’ hand, smoothing his thumb over his knuckles. “What’s this really about?”

 

Eames looks down at their hands, then finally meets Arthur’s eyes. “It’s been five years.”

 

“Yes,” Arthur nods. 

 

“I thought maybe you were finding things a bit...stale,” Eames admits, flushing.

 

Arthur can’t help but smirk. “And you thought you’d  _ spice _ things up a little?”

 

“Arthur,” Eames groans. “You can’t be adorable  _ and _ mock me, I can’t take it.”

 

“Hey, look at me,” Arthur ducks his head to catch Eames’ gaze. “I love you. We are not stale, we do not need spice, and we do not need fictional characters to keep us interested in each other. You are everything I need to make me happy.”

 

Eames searches his face, hand tightening around Arthur’s fingers. “You’re not bored with me?”

 

“Bored?” Arthur laughs. “Eames, you are the least boring person on the planet. You set the kitchen on fire last week just to get me out of hosting the neighbourhood potluck.”

 

“That was for both our sakes,” Eames grouses.

 

“You’ve made three different security companies cancel our contract because you keep subverting their programming when you forget our keys and have to break into the house.”

 

“If I’m paying them to keep our home secure I expect them to be able to keep me out, too.” Eames argues, a small smile lurking under his frown.

 

“The point is,” Arthur says, crowding into Eames’ space. “If I want spice I’ll buy a pumpkin latte. I don’t need you to be anything other than exactly what you are.”

 

Eames purses his lips. “And what is that?”

 

Arthur grins. “Sexy,” he presses a lingering kiss to Eames’ cheek. “Brilliant.” Another kiss to his other cheek. “Spontaneous.” Eames wrinkles his nose once Arthur’s lips move on. “Mine.”

 

Arthur smiles against Eames’ lips, relishing the throaty hum of pleasure Eames makes when Arthur’s tongue slides into his mouth. Arthur senses the landscape changing around them. There’s a ripple in the air that brings a pleasant salty dampness to replace the arid desert atmosphere, and when Arthur pulls back, the sand has paled to white and clear blue waves lap up on the shore. A replica of the double chaise lounge they have in the backyard sits beneath a ridiculously large paisley umbrella while fruity drinks await in sweating glasses.

 

“More to your tastes, darling?” Eames asks.

 

“Hmm, almost.” Arthur twitches his nose and Eames laughs with delight when Arthur’s stillsuit disappears.

 

“Arthur, you’re scandalous!” Eames grins, running his hands down Arthur’s naked torso.

 

“And you’re severely overdressed,” Arthur says, ripping open Eames’ shirt. 

 

Thirty minutes and mutual blowjobs later, Arthur’s lying on the chaise, a drink in his hand, and Eames’ head in his lap, feeling relaxed and content.

 

“You know, if you want to spice things up a little, there are other things we could do.”

 

Eames opens one of his eyes. “I thought we weren’t stale.”

 

“We’re not, but we might be ready for something a little more…”

 

“Spicy?” Eames guesses with a kiss to Arthur’s hip.

 

“Responsible.”

 

“Ugh, no. We’re far too responsible as it is.” Eames settles back down and closes his eyes.

 

“Alright, I just thought, well, nevermind.” Arthur counts in his head, barely making it to three before Eames grumbles and sits up.

 

“What exactly did you have in mind?” 

 

Arthur smiles and kisses him. “How much longer do we have down here?”

 

“Enough for round two, if you’re so inclined.” Eames bites at Arthur’s neck, his arm snaking around Arthur’s waist.

 

“I am, but then we have to go. Your gift is waiting.”

 

Arthur’s still panting when he wakes up. He has no idea how Eames keeps such good track of their time down in the dreamspace, but the man has made an art of it. Arthur’s second orgasm had barely finished barrelling through him when the timer wound down. Eames blinks awake and stretches next to him on the bed.

 

“Third time’s the charm?” He asks with a wicked grin.

 

Before Arthur can answer, the doorbell rings. “I wonder who that could be.”

 

Eames gives him a calculating look. “Who indeed. It’s nearly ten on a Monday evening.”

 

Arthur shrugs. “I guess you should answer the door, then.”

 

Eames scrambles off the bed and races down the stairs, Arthur following close behind. When Eames throws open the front door there’s a kennel on the porch, a small brown nose poking through the bars.

 

“What have you done?” Eames breathes, opening the door to the kennel and pulling out a chocolate lab puppy,

 

“Happy anniversary,” Arthur tells him, kissing Eames on the cheek and scratching the dog behind the ears.

 

“Arthur,” Eames presses his face to the puppy’s neck, laughing when the dog turns to lick his nose.

 

“I knew she’d love you.”

 

Eames stares at him with a look of wonder. “I can’t believe you’re giving me a dog.”

 

“I’m giving us a dog, actually,” Arthur corrects him. “I told you, I think we’re ready for more and this seemed like a good step forward.”

 

“I love her. Oh my god, can we name her Paul?” Eames asks, eyes wide.

 

“Definitely not. She already has a name.”

 

The puppy barks happily, paws scrabbling at Eames’ chest in an effort to cover his face with kisses.

 

“What is it?” Eames asks, letting the dog chew at his fingers.

 

Arthur grins, wrapping his arms around Eames’ waist. “Nutmeg.”

  
  
  



End file.
